Hatched

Become a Vapor

My mind is racing,
Make it stop,
My thoughts are spinning like a top,
My head’s exploding, about to pop,
Like fireworks happening in my brain,
Am I smart or just insane?
Words and phrases, about to blow,
Then all at once they start to flow,
I sit and type them on the page,
It all makes sense, I lose my rage,
It is calming to rein them in,
To tame the horse that runs within,
Ideas escape the violent storm,
Tossing, turning, without form,
And quietly placed upon the paper,
Become in my head now just a vapor!

Tammy Harvey 7-22-2015

I sometimes wonder why I began to write poetry in my mid 50's. It wasn't intentional or contrived. It just happened, naturally, like a chick hatching out of an egg. It is inside my head and like the chick, it just has to come out. This poem describes the feeling of getting my words "hatched" onto paper.

The Tracks out Back

I've written about the steep driveway at the front of our house, but what  about the oddity of our backyard.  We have no fence between us and the railroad track that is literally a rock's throw from our backdoor!

The Railroad Track

A train runs through our backyard,

No really, a train does run through our backyard,

About a hundred feet from our deck to the track,

The train travels to Durham and then it comes back,

Every day and sometimes Sundays, it is on the go,

A small freight train of boxcars that moves fairly slow,

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining,

The train is quite quaint and entertaining,

Rumble, rumble as it draws near,

Then the whistle blows as it appears,

The noise is heard every day,

The children are fascinated and stop their play,

To watch the engine roll by first,

Then boxcar after boxcar, it shakes the earth,

Causing our pictures to tilt and our foundation to settle,

There is a creaking sound of metal on metal,

Then the caboose rolls by with a red flag on the back,

This is the story of the railroad track,

In our backyard, in case you forgot,

It really is true.  I kid you not.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  December 31, 2016 (“caboose” day of the year)

The Driveway Dilemma

An icestorm really did occur here in 1996.  Our children even built an igloo with the ice chunks we eventually cut from our driveway,  The sledding was fierce during this event when school was cancelled for a couple of weeks.

House Atop the Hill

Our house sits at the top of a hill,

We raised our children and live there still,

The driveway is steep and not very long,

And one misstep could go terribly wrong,

It presented a problem when our children were small,

If they rode a bike down it, they surely would fall,

Neighborhood daredevils tried scooters and skates,

I advised them to stay off for fear of their fates,

But, oh, when it snowed, we were the most popular place,

For the children to ride sleds with smiles on their face,

As our children grew and began to drive cars,

Our driveway was a challenge to back down, under the stars,

We moved our mailbox out of the way,

‘Cause we knew that they would crash into it someday,

Once an ice storm froze everything with a coating of ice,

The cul-de-sac was an ice rink which worked out really nice,

But to get up our driveway, we needed a rope,

Slip sliding on the treacherous slope,

Literally a rope was tied at the top,

Once we started down, we really could not stop!

Hand over hand, when going up, the rope was our tow,

Except for the mailbox there was no place to go!

School was out for days and days, then week after week,

Sometimes it is adventurous to live on a peak! 

  - Tammy Harvey   written:  12/3/2016

Time marches on

Time

Tick-tock the secondhand sweeps,
At 60 seconds, the minute hand leaps,
Time marches on without regard,
Some find the concept really hard,
Time brings healing so it is said,
And time is eternal when one is dead,
Time can be saved, efficient, well-used,
Time can also be wasted, lost, abused,
When having fun, time really flies,
When passed a deadline, time denies,
Time has its own rhythm, moves with precision,
Time is quite the juxtaposition,
Half past, a quarter till,
Am then pm, it won't stand still,
In the tiniest of increments, time is a wonder,
Time is all relative; take time to ponder.

Tammy Harvey
written:  5/19/2016

Have you ever sat and watched an analog click tick away the seconds then minutes?  Those big white-faced clocks with the large black numbers and red sweeping second hands were placed abundantly throughout the school building in my youth.  Every classroom had one on the wall, as did the library, gymnasium, auditorium and cafeteria.

Due Date

January 7, 2017  - Due Date of our first grandbaby.
After many months of watching our daughter-in-law's belly grow, we have finally reached the end of gestation and arrived at the "due date" with great anticipation.

This poem was written back when we first learned of the pregnancy, and is dedicated to our new little grandbaby boy:  Charles Edward Harvey
Postscript:  Charlie came early, arriving 12/30/2016 at 4:59pm

Grandbabies
Baby fingers, tiny toes,
Ruby lips, a button nose,
Rosy cheeks, curious eyes,
Sweet and tender baby cries,
Innocent little helpless one,
Could be a daughter or a son,
Unborn baby in the womb,
We will meet you very soon,
Praying for a healthy birth,
And a blessed life on earth,
Heaven-sent but in our care,
I wonder if you are aware,
How much love we have to show,
Grandbaby, as you grow and grow.

Tammy Harvey
written:  5/19/2016

Keepsakes

I find that life can get complicated fairly quickly if you let it.  You can be consumed with all the "things" you keep in your life.  I find it necessary to purge every once in a while the unnecessary clutter in my world:  Refocus on what's really important and what's a keepsake.  This clutter is physical, mental, emotional, as well as spiritual.  The key word is "keep".  Keep what is encouraging, uplifting, gratifying, motivating, enjoyable, and positively simple.  If it's a keepsake, your heart will know.

Keep

keep the peace, when there is war,

say keep the change, when you want to give more,

keep it up, when you’re doing well,

keep it real, when the truth you tell,

keep it down, when life gets loud,

keep it moving, when you’re in a crowd,

keep it to yourself, if your words are discouraging,

but keep it going, when you are emerging,

If it’s a keepsake, your heart will know,

And you will continue to spiritually grow,

Take time to determine what to keep,

And what you sow, you will reap,

Purge your life of things that clutter,

Keep it simple, that’s your bread and butter

Tammy Harvey

Written:  Nov 12, 2016

Turn, turn, turn the key

My Music Box

Turn, turn, turn the key,

But not too tightly, they always warned me,

Overtighten and it might be ruined,

The tiny box so magically tuned,

Open the lid to start the sound,

Little metal drum spins round and round,

The pins on the drum are spaced precisely,

Each pin plucks a note which plays a song nicely,

The sound is so crisp, so light, so pleasing,

It has a way of calming and gently easing,

I could listen for hours but alas it will end,

Small doses are all that it affords me to spend,

Mozart’s Minuet plays on it so well,

Handcrafted in Switzerland, with love, I can tell,

Remember the ones you saw as a girl?

When you opened it up, the ballerina would twirl?

I’m no longer young, but I’m still young at heart,

Excuse me while I cause the music to restart,

Turn, turn, turn the key,

But not too tightly, they always warned me.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  12/8/2016